


In Dissent of Fate

by Zykaben



Series: Zykaben's Tim Appreciation Week Collection [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aromantic Tim, Gen, Introspection, Past Internalized Arophobia, Tim is secure and happy with who he is now tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23983888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zykaben/pseuds/Zykaben
Summary: Tim had never really found the idea of soulmates all that great, really. He actually kind of hated it.
Series: Zykaben's Tim Appreciation Week Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729294
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38
Collections: Tim Stoker Appreciation Week





	In Dissent of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 1 of Tim Appreciation Week! I went with the prompt Soulmates and it ended up going in a direction I hadn't expected but loved. And a HUGE thank you to jasmine for helping me beta this into something great.
> 
> Thank you for reading and please be sure to bookmark, leave kudos, and comment!

Tim had never really found the idea of soulmates all that great, really. He actually kind of hated it.

It wasn’t that he had anything against the concept of two people finding each other and some great, unbreakable, earth-shattering love springing to life between them—no, Tim adored that. Loved the idea of finding love. It was more the whole ‘completeness’ part of the deal that ended up being a sticking point.

So, what, there was just some person out there that made him whole? That made him worth  _ more _ than he could ever be on his own? The idea that Tim wasn’t enough, that he was only ever half of what he could be… that rankled him. Made his stomach turn, made his hands ache to punch and throw and break.

It wasn’t like it even mattered—soulmates weren’t a  _ thing _ outside of soppy romance novels and overly dramatic poems. They in no way affected him, had absolutely zero impact on his day-to-day life.

Except they kind of  _ did. _

Those stories, their narratives, they all espoused the same message. All breathed life to the same bullshit link between love and a person’s worth. And sure, maybe it wasn’t fair to pin it all on one concept. Maybe Tim didn’t even have that much of a problem with it, really. Maybe, more than the concept itself, it was what it reflected about the ideals of society, what people viewed as  _ right. _ Maybe it was that so many goddamn people viewed romance as something that made them whole, that being in love was more important than anything else, that this had to be true of everyone else on the fucking planet or there was something  _ wrong _ with them. Maybe  _ that _ was what Tim really had a problem with.

But  _ fuck _ if it wasn’t easier to just say he wasn’t a fan of the concept than it was to explain the nuances and context of it and why it sat so uncomfortably with him.

Tim was perfectly happy with—well, no. That wasn’t true. Tim wasn’t perfectly happy. He hadn’t been for a long time. But it wasn’t like everything would suddenly get better if he fell in love, if he got himself a romantic partner. The sun would still set at the same time each night, the world would still be a scary place, those fucking  _ mannequins _ would still be out there in the world.

And Danny would still be dead.

There wasn’t any kind of romance or soulmate that could fix that.

And that was all Tim really needed fixed, anyway. He didn’t  _ care _ that he couldn’t “fall in love properly.” What a load of horseshit. Like there was a proper way to fall in love, like there was a fucking requirement to do so.

Congratulations to everyone else who had found it. He hoped that they had fun and that they were all happy, but it just wasn’t for  _ Tim _ and he’d be rather grateful if people stopped trying to imply otherwise, be it specific to him or as a generalization.

Tim had tried that whole song and dance, had asked out people who made him feel something vibrant and excited in his chest, made his body flush with warmth when he thought of them. Had been asked out by people who’d felt things for him in turn.

It never turned out well.

It wasn’t that the whole thing was terrible. For a good while, Tim never even gave it much thought. It only made sense that he and his partner would act like friends but with sex thrown in. Wasn’t that what any healthy romantic relationship was based on, a strong friendship? And sure, there were the romantic gestures—sometimes they could even be fun. But it always felt like he was playacting, donning a mask as he walked onto stage. It wasn’t  _ bad, _ but Tim wondered when those masks would fall away, when the two of them would grow comfortable enough to no longer feel the need to perform.

It had taken a while for Tim to realize that he was alone in feeling that pressure, that question of  _ why. _ And then he began to pay attention. To question. To doubt.

He always cared for the people he’d been dating, always felt sad and heartbroken when they left, but it didn’t tear at him, didn’t leave him feeling like his heart had been clawed out of his chest. And shouldn’t it feel like that? Shouldn’t he have felt  _ more _ ? Was he just a cruel and heartless bastard who couldn’t even  _ feel _ properly? Surely he was in love, right? He just couldn’t properly detangle it from what friendship felt like because the two were so  _ close, _ practically the same thing.

He hadn’t sworn off dating as a whole until a while later. He’d been  _ so sure _ that he’d meet the right person like everyone said, like everything he came across insisted. Christ, he’d actually been looking forward to it, to feeling the symphony of fireworks exploding in his chest and setting his mind ablaze with the highest form of love. He’d wanted to  _ get it, _ to understand why everyone adored overly saccharine gestures, to feel the appeal of them for himself.

There wasn’t a  _ right _ person for that. There never had been. They didn’t exist because that wasn’t what was right for Tim.

He hadn’t come to terms with the fact that none of that meant he was  _ wrong _ for a good bit longer. Even now, there were some days he felt that way. It would sneak up on him when it was quiet, taking root and festering as it poisoned his thoughts. He would stay up well past sunset, staring up at his ceiling as he laid in the dark, wondering if he was broken, if he just needed to hold out a little longer for the perfect person that would finally open his eyes. If he really was just as awful as some people thought he was.

But he wasn’t broken. He wasn’t awful. There wasn’t a perfect person for him.

Tim was whole.

Sure, he was missing a piece of two— _ Danny _ —and he was bruised and dented, but at the end of the day who wasn’t? Everyone was hurt in some way, a little broken in some places. But this part of him did not make him less, did not make him incomplete or flawed or broken, did not make him  _ wrong. _

He was simply himself. And that was more than enough and always would be.


End file.
